


Let Us Go Down to the Vineyards

by thesacredreznor



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Jewish Bucky Barnes, Jewish Comics Day, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Natasha Romanov, Jewish Sam Wilson, Jewish Tony Stark, Jewish Wanda Maximoff, M/M, Pesach | Passover, Steve Rogers the token goy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesacredreznor/pseuds/thesacredreznor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pesach with Sam and Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to bomberqueen17 and this-is-furious! 
> 
> Title is from Song of Songs 7:13
> 
> This is the first fic I've posted in nearly a decade. So please be gentle. Happy Jewish Comics Day! There is one more part, which I am planning to have up within the week.

Sam awoke to the sound of furious vacuuming.

He groaned, rolled over, and covered his head with a pillow in a stubborn attempt to fall back asleep. He did manage, somehow, to outlast the roar of the vacuum cleaner and then lay in silence for several more minutes before deciding that he was awake enough that he might as well get up.

Sam staggered out of bed, pulled on some sweatpants, and had a nice stretch before leaving the room to find out exactly what kind of trouble his boyfriend had gotten into.

The vacuum was sitting unsupervised in the middle of the living room. Bucky was in the kitchen, using a toothbrush to scrub at the counter where it met the wall.

The morning light spilled across the kitchen. Bucky’s hair was pulled into a bun, high on his head, and the table was covered in re-usable grocery bags.

Sam was certain that Bucky knew he was standing right there. In fact, the only reason he hadn’t turned from his task was because he knew it was Sam.

“You’re, uh, really going HAM on the chametz this yeah, huh?”

Bucky finally turned around, setting the toothbrush down next to the sink. He smiled, looking a bit sheepish.

“Shit. I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said. “It’s just that I woke up early and I thought I’d get a head start, so I got all the leavened stuff out of the cabinets and by then I was so caught up I started vacuuming right away. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Sam just chuckled, pressing Bucky against the counter for a quick kiss.

“Good morning to you too,” he said. “And is all this really necessary?” He gestured limply at the mess on the table, the discarded vacuum that was visible from the living room.

“I guess it depends who you ask,” Bucky said.

Sam, nodded, thinking _ain’t that the truth_ , and crossed the room to pour himself some coffee.

“Anyway,” Bucky continued, “we never did any of this back home, but Ma always insisted on a good spring cleaning. So it felt right.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, so long as you don’t want me running around the house with a candle and a feather, I won’t complain.” He brought the mug to his lips and took a sip.

Bucky grinned. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Besides, since this whole thing is my fault, you get to do all the fun parts, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Bucky had begged and cajoled Sam until he agreed to host a seder. It was a break from tradition. Sam always visited his parents for both seders, and his mother had been none too pleased when he told her they would only be joining for the second night.

“Anyway I wrote up a list of stuff for you to do.” Bucky reached into his back pocket and handed over small folded paper.

Sam took the list from him and groaned. Bucky was altogether too fond of to-do lists, in his opinion. “Okay, but I’m gonna veto anything that’s not fun enough.”

“You’re the boss.” Bucky picked the toothbrush back up and commenced scrubbing the seam at the edge of the sink.

Sam took the time get himself some yoghurt from the fridge and sit down at the table, clearing aside a space for his breakfast and coffee, before unfolding the note.

It read, in a considerate and comparatively neat version of Bucky’s usual scrawl: 1. Bring bread to Steve. 2. Groceries. 3. Assemble seder plate 4. Arrange table.

“That’s not much of a list,” Sam said. “You could have just told me all that.”

“Yeah but it never hurts to stay organized. And then you get to cross the things off the list as you do them and feel accomplished.”

“I’ll feel accomplished when the guests have all arrived and we’re sittin’ down to dinner,” Sam said. “But okay, this list is fine. You forgot something though.”

Bucky looked up from his cleaning. “What?”

“I’m doing the haroset. I told you I always make the haroset.”

“Oh right!” Bucky said. “Sorry I forgot.”

“I’ll do it when I get back from the market. It needs to sit for a few hours before the meal anyway.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. Sam could see him slow the pace of his scrubbing in order to mentally adjust his carefully planned schedule. He set down the toothbrush. “Good. Excellent. Since you’re up anyway, I’m gonna finish the vacuuming.”

“Knock yourself out,” Sam told him. The noise from the vacuum was not, perhaps, the most pleasant breakfast accompaniment, but Sam hated to interrupt Bucky once he’d hit his stride.

So he sat at the table, among the bags of hametz, and took his time with his yoghurt and coffee. Not procrastinating exactly, but enjoying the view of the tree out the window.  He drank his coffee and watched the crows flitting around the branches.

The vacuuming stopped and Bucky stuck his head back in the kitchen.

“You should probably head to Steve’s soon. He’ll be done with his run any minute now.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Well, we can’t keep Steve waiting.”

“Nope,” Bucky said, and then, reconsidering. “I’m sorry. I’m being a nag. I just want to get this stuff out of the house.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said, taking his mug over to the sink. “I’ll shower and then I’ll head over.”

 

Sam got a few funny looks as he carried six overloaded bags of leavened products on the subway. But overall it was an uneventful trip.

Steve answered the door looking pink faced and freshly showered, as well as a little surprised.

“Oh, hey Sam,” he said, looking a bit suspiciously at the numerous bags.

“Special delivery.” Sam stepped inside and walked into Steve’s kitchen, setting the bags along the counter.

He turned around to look at Steve, who seemed to be getting more confused by the second.

“Bucky didn’t tell you I was coming, did he?”

“Nope.”

“He made it sound like you were expecting me.”

Steve shrugged. “Sometimes it seems like he thinks I should just be able to read his mind. Like we’ve known each other so long I should just be able to sense his intentions from across Brooklyn.” He walked over to the counter and peaked into one of the bags. “What _is_ all this?”

“Um, leavened bread?” Steve gave him a blank look. “Non-kosher for Passover stuff. We can’t have it in the apartment.”

“Aw jeez Sam,” Steve said, going through the next bag. “This is so much stuff.”

There was an awful lot of it. Sam was always a little surprised by just how much non-kosher products they accumulated over the course of the year. He wondered if maybe he should be eating fewer carbs.

“You should donate it,” Steve said, after a beat. “It’s wasted on me.”

“I think all of this stuff has been opened. I can’t donate it.” He grabbed the nearest bag and started unloading stuff onto Steve’s kitchen table.

“What,” he raised his eyebrows. “You’re not too good for it, I hope? Captain America won’t take his best pal’s second hand bread products? I mean, I’m sure you can eat it all. You got a super human metabolism to keep up and all.”

Steve chuckled. “Well I guess I can probably manage. Is that whiskey?”

Sam set the bottle down on Steve’s table. “Not kosher for Passover. Who knew? It’s your lucky day.”

 

In the end they made short work of unloading everything. Sam unpacking while Steve started shoving things into cupboards, only pausing occasionally to make fun Sam and Bucky’s snack choices.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tonight,” Steve said they were folding up the last of the empty bags. “There’s not anything I should bring, is there?”

“Nah man,” Sam said. “We’re gonna have plenty of food, believe me. I’m heading to the grocery store from here.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t that like going to get a turkey thanksgiving morning?”

“It should be fine. Bucky already got most of what we need. He’s got this brisket that he is unreasonably excited about making. I just insisted on getting all the traditional stuff myself.” Bucky had done well enough getting the raw ingredients, but he’d failed miserably when it came to what Sam considered the essentials. He’d asked Bucky to get matzo and he’d come back with the egg and onion kind _that wasn’t even kosher for Passover what the fuck._ Sam had decided he needed to take matters into his own hands.

“Traditional stuff?”

“I mean the Manischewitz products that come in boxes and jars. We gotta get the gefilte fish, the matzo, coconut macaroons, those little fruit slice things...” Sam trailed off, distracted and thinking that maybe he should have taken a leaf from Buck’s book and written a list.

“Your realize this is New York City, right? You could probably find a great kosher deli for that stuff.”

Sam groaned. “You are just like him, you know? Ninety years old and you _do not_ understand the nostalgia factor. When I was a kid I looked forward to this stuff every year. I need my canned gefilte fish with the little shreds of carrot floating around.”

“Alright, alright.” Steve held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry.”

Sam realized that maybe he was getting a little bit too worked up about gefilte fish. “No, it’s cool.”

“Hey, you want some company? I could go shopping with you. At least give you another hand with the bags.”

Sam was a little surprised by this request, although logically he knew he shouldn’t be. That was just Steve. Always wanting to help, happy to do any sort of unpleasant menial chore in exchange for some good company. Sam could never decide if it was because Steve was just that _good_ or if it was just that he was lonely. Probably a combination of the two.

“I mean, sure,” he said. “If you got nothing better to do.”

“Nope,” Steve said, grinning. “And you won’t let me bring anything so I ought to help where I can.”

As it turned out, Steve’s shopping-for-turkey-thanksgiving-morning analogy was not inaccurate. Sam was accustomed to doing his last minute Passover shopping in DC, which had a respectable Jewish population but was nothing compared to New York.

The kosher foods section at looked like it had been picked over by vultures.

“Shit,” he said.

“Do they not have everything?” Steve asked with charming ignorance.

“I may have made an error in judgment.” It pained Sam to admit.

In the end, grocery store #1 yielded a couple macaroon jars, some matzo ball soup mix, and a few battered looking boxes of matzo. The only item that had been relatively plentiful was the concord grape kosher wine. Sam loaded up with, like, six bottles.

“You look like someone shot your puppy,” Steve pointed out as Sam made his way through checkout.

“Ha.”

“I’ll look for the closest supermarket from here,” Steve said, pulling out his phone.

“Thanks, man.”

 

In the end it took trips to four separate supermarkets before Sam was able to scavenge enough of everything. Steve ended up being a godsend because if Sam had ended up lugging six bottles of kosher wine all across Brooklyn he might have expired before the seder even started.

They were standing outside the third market when Sam got a panicked call from Bucky.

“Are you ok? Where are you? What’s happening? Are you hurt?”

“Bucky,” Sam said, switching the phone to speaker.  He grimaced. He should have texted to let him know he was running late. “I’m fine.”

“Hey, Buck,” Steve in the direction of the phone in Sam’s hand.

“Steve? Steve is with you? You guys had better not be doing anything stupi—“

“No, we’re not doing anything stupid,” Sam said.

“Unless you consider Sam putting off his shopping until the morning-of stupid.” Steve added.

Sam shot Steve his most poisonous glare. “He means we’ve run into a bit of a snag so the shopping is taking a little longer than I expected. It’s fine.”

Sam could almost hear the sound of Bucky calming down over the phone.

“Ok,” Bucky said. “Are you gonna be back in time to do the haroset? Because I’m happy to do it.”

“No!” Sam said. “Uh, I mean no. Please. I’ll have time to make the haroset. Don’t worry.”

“Ok.”

“How’s the brisket going,” Sam said, desperate to change the subject from his lack of foresight.

“Oh,” Buck said. “It’s going good. I added a couple onions to the recipe because it only called for three and I just didn’t think that was enough onions.”

“That sounds great, babe.”

“Good! Ok. Yeah, I should let you go so you can be back in time for the haroset. Love you.”

“Ok, see you soon. Love you, too.” Sam said before hanging up.

“You guys are gross.” Steve said, making a face. “Remember when all you did was argue? I think I liked that better.”

Sam smacked Steve on his dumb super-soldier bicep.

“Why do I need to argue with him when I can argue with you? Besides, you’ll see some arguing if he starts making that fucking haroset without me. I swear, if he so much as slices a single apple.”

 

Sam arrived home, Steve in tow, to Bucky mixing cake batter, left arm a blur of movement. The smell of brisket was wafting through the air and Drake was crying over some girl that done him wrong over the kitchen stereo.

Bucky looked up as soon as they came into the kitchen.

“Steve is here!” He put down the bowl in order to hug Steve with both arms.

“Hey, pal,” Steve said, clapping Bucky twice on the back.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Sam said.

“No,” Bucky said, letting go of Steve. “I already made the liver.” He went back to mixing cake batter.

“Please tell me there isn’t any liver,” Steve said, looking pale.

“It’s good for your anemia, Steve,” Bucky said, gesturing at Steve with a wooden spoon.

Steve groaned. “Not in seventy years!”

Sam decided to take advantage of Bucky’s distraction by reaching out and swiping some batter with his finger.

He couldn’t help himself from making an appreciative noise. It was good, maybe not as good as his mom’s but pretty good.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky said, looking disgusted. “You couldn’t even wait until I was done to lick the spoon. I have to wash this spoon now. Who knows where your hands have been? Fucking unsanitary. You’re lucky I’m even letting you make the haroset.” Bucky kept grumbling, although Sam couldn’t hear him over the music, as he stomped over to the sink to wash the spoon.

“Alright, well, speaking of, I gotta start on that.”

“No shit, asshole,” Bucky said, a loud enough that Sam could hear him. “I already set up everything on the table for you.”

Indeed, Bucky had, rather thoughtfully, set out the apples, the walnuts, a jar of honey, and cutting board out with a large glass bowl. Sam grabbed the apple peeler and got to work.

“Steve! Can you start setting the table?” Bucky asked, shouting so they could hear him from the other side of the kitchen. “I already set out the tablecloth and you know where the nice china is.”

“Sure,” Steve said, leaving the kitchen for the dining room.

“Can you turn that down, Buck?” Sam liked Drake as much as the next guy, but he’d had a rough morning shopping and the loud bass wasn’t doing anything for his head.

“Sure pal,” Bucky grinned at him and maintained eye-contact while he turned the volume knob the opposite direction.

Sam swore under his breath. He got out of his seat and stomped over to the stereo, grabbed Bucky’s phone where it was plugged in and stopped the music.

“Hey! I’m trying to listen to some traditional Jewish ballads, Sam. Get in the mood for the holiday. “

“Very funny,” Sam deadpanned. “I never get tired of hearing that joke at every holiday. Bucky, I just got back from the shopping trip from hell. Please, please let me pick the music so that I can make the haroset in peace.”

“Fine.” Bucky said. Sam put on some Ofra Haza and got back to work.

Sam settled into the peaceful routine of peeling and slicing apples for the haroset.

“Hey,” Steve’s head appeared peeking into the doorway, looking a bit like he was afraid that the relative silence meant he’d be interrupting _a moment_. In his defense it wouldn’t be the first time. Steve had terrible luck when it came to stumbling upon his friends in compromising positions.

“Sorry guys,” he said. “I just realized that I don’t actually know how many places I’m supposed to set.”

“Six!” Sam called at the exact moment Bucky said, “Seven.”

“No man, your count is off. It’s six,” Sam said. “You, me, Steve, Wanda, Natasha, Tony.”

“Wait, Tony is coming?” Steve said. Which, fair, Tony was not a frequent guest at the Wilson-Barnes residence, due to the whole Bucky-killed-his-parents thing, not that Tony hadn’t seemed to reconcile with this. The two of them had worked it out and were amiable enough when thrown together on Avengers business, but they did not exactly hang out. It was just a little awkward.

“He kept kind of hinting?” Bucky said. “I guess Wanda was talking about it a lot and it seemed like he really wanted to come, so I figured what the hell? Also, Sam it is seven. Ethel from shul is coming, remember?”

Sam blinked. “This is literally the first I have heard of this.”

“Remember her son’s family is out of town? She didn’t have a seder to go to so I invited her,” Bucky said. Looking completely certain he’d told Sam all this before.

“I swear you never told me this.”

“Oh,” Bucky said. “I guess it must have slipped my mind. Well that’s not going to be problem, is it? We‘ve got plenty of food.”

Sam sighed. “No. It won’t be a problem.” It wasn’t that Sam _disliked_ Ethel from shul. It was just that Bucky had this talent for charming the figurative skirts off of eighty year old ladies. So now every time they went to services together he had to deal with his boyfriend being surrounded by a gaggle of old women. Sure, it was just harmless flirting, and it was understandable that Bucky enjoyed spending time with some of his chronological peers, but it got old after a while. Not that Sam was jealous, or anything.

“So, just to clarify, _seven_?” Steve said.

“Guess so,” Sam said. “Since Ethel from shul is coming. You’ll like her, Steve. She’s only a couple years younger than you are.”

 

There was nothing quite like making haroset to get Sam in the right mindset for a seder. His mom had set him to the task at a young age, as soon as she was relatively confident he could use a peeler without slicing his skin off. (She might have been a little too optimistic in judging his abilities. Sam had slightly less fond memories of bleeding all over the apples during his early years.)

Sam had never been any good at cooking, but at least he could make a mean haroset. He’d been doing it long enough he’d perfected the ratio of all the components. He loved how the smell evolved as everything came together. The sweet tang of the apples gaining complexity as he added the sharp smelling cinnamon, the honey, the earthy walnuts, the almost cloyingly sweet kosher wine. It was easy to fall into a rhythm of peeling, and chopping, and measuring. Finally mixing it all together and letting the aroma percolate.

Sam was focused enough on the task at hand that he wasn’t quite sure at what point Bucky had stopped flitting around the kitchen and started unpacking Sam’s groceries.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you get six bottles of wine?”

Sam sighed. “Because you didn’t get any. And we need enough for at least four cups per person.”

“I _did_ get wine,” Bucky said.

“You didn’t get any _kosher_ wine.”

“Because kosher wine is gross. Nobody's gonna want to drink that.”

“Bucky,” Sam said, trying to find his inner calm. “This is the way of our people. Twice a year we get drunk on horrible kosher wine. We drink it two nights in a row and then we don’t ever want to drink it again until next year comes around. This is an ancient tradition that ranks up there with the _afikoman_.”

“They didn’t mention that in the adult education class at shul,” Bucky said, scowling. He was standing with his arms crossed, looking the very picture of doggedness.

“Can you please try to accept that this is important to me? There’s a lot to my personal religious practice that probably isn’t taught in your adult ed class at shul. Alright?”

Bucky sighed. “So you’re gonna make us all drink nasty sweet wine because it’s traditional?”

“I will spare you my rendition of Tradition from Fiddler on the Roof, but yes.”

Bucky squinted and was quiet for a minute. “I’m only agreeing to this because you’re very important to me and I want this seder to be a success,” he said, suddenly completely serious.

“I respect your reasoning and I’m glad you’ve seen the truth,” Sam said. “Now come over here. Let’s not fight.” He opened his arms and Bucky came in for a hug, melting against him.

“Thank you for doing this with me,” he said, muffled against Sam’s neck.

“It’s not really a hardship,” Sam said. Sure, it hadn’t been fun convincing his parents to break with tradition, but he liked the idea of starting his own seder tradition, with his new family. “But you’re welcome.”

Muffled by the way his face was mushed against Sam's shoulder, Bucky said, “Can I put Drake back on?”

“No.”


	2. Seder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the seder actually takes place.

Wanda was the first guest to arrive, looking a little sheepish and carrying a plate of what looked to be home-made fudge.

“I’m sorry I’m early,” she said, in one long breath. Sam blinked.

“Don’t be?” he said. “It’s good to see you. Steve’s been here for hours anyway. Oh, here, let me take that.” He reached out for the plate that she had precariously balanced in one hand. Not that he was too concerned she’d drop it. She’d probably catch it with her powers before it hit the ground, but she did look a bit overwhelmed.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” he said. “But thank you, this looks great.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Wanda said, smiling slightly.

“Well come on in,” he said. “The old farts are both in the kitchen, putting on the finishing touches.”

“Wanda!” Steve greeted her warmly, pulling her into one of his ridiculous super soldier hugs. Sam sidestepped the two of them in order to put Wanda’s fudge down safely on the table.

“Hey,” Bucky said from the stove, waving a ladle in greeting.

Wanda carefully extracted herself from Steve and came over to Bucky, leaning casually against the counter and keeping a distance that was casual, but comfortable.

“That smells lovely,” she said, “Matzo ball soup?”

Bucky smiled. “I hope so. I’ve never made it before and Sam said I should just use the mix from the box but that seemed inappropriate.”

“And now you’re making soup a half hour before the seder starts,” Sam chided. “You weren’t overambitious at all.”

“I’m sure it’s all going to be great,” Wanda said, diplomatically.

“Oh,” Sam said.” It probably will be, but only because Steve was here to help him pull it all off.”

“Well,” Steve said, coming over to stand next to Bucky, “we’ve always been a good team.”

“Damn right.” Then the two of them high-fived without even seeming to look at each other. It was uncanny.

 

Natasha arrived next, hugged Sam and Steve in greeting, and then perched herself on the counter in order to rib Bucky in Russian while he tried to put the raw matzah balls into the boiling chicken broth. She proved to be enough of a distraction that Buck kept dropping the balls in awkwardly, burning himself (and anyone with the misfortune of standing too close) with droplets of soup.

 

The next time the doorbell rang, Sam opened it to reveal a stooped, blue-haired old woman with a bright pink walker.

“Gut Yom Tov!” she said.

“Ethel,” Sam said, putting on his best bright old-person friendly expression. “So glad you could make it.”

“Ethel is here?” Bucky appeared from out of nowhere (seriously how had he gotten from the kitchen to the front door so fast?) and pushed past Sam to greet Ethel with a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Oh, let me help you over the step here.”

Ethel waved him off. “I can manage,” she said, hefting up her walker and mounting the short step into their apartment without much trouble.

Bucky took her arm and steered her into the living room.

“That’s a pretty blouse you’ve got on,” he said, “is that new?”

The shirt in question was purple and had a lot of ruffles. Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Oh thank you Bucky,” Esther said. “Yes, my niece took me shopping.”

“Why don’t you sit? I can get you a drink—“

“Noo thank you dear,” Ethel said, “I don’t care to sit quite yet. We’re in for a whole evening of sitting, after all. Now I haven’t even said a proper hello to Sam yet.”

“Good to see you, Ethel,” Sam said.

“Come over here. Don’t be such a stranger,” Ethel said, holding an arm out to him.

Sam resigned himself to a one armed hug and a wet kiss on the cheek from Ethel. Her perfume was very floral and very intense and it nearly made his eyes water.

Ethel detached from him and looked around. “You have such a lovely home,” she said, “but where is everyone? I know I can’t be early.”

“They’re in the kitchen. Come on, I’ll introduce you,” Bucky said, taking her arm again to slowly walk her into the kitchen. Sam trailed behind the pair of them, struggling to keep his pace slow enough that he didn’t seem to be rushing Ethel, and also feeling a bit like a third wheel.

“Hey everyone,” Bucky called as they entered the kitchen. “This is Ethel.” Then, to Ethel he said, “This is Natasha,” he inclined his head towards Nat, who slid down from the counter and gave Ethel a weak sort of wave.

“This is Wanda.”

Wanda held out a hand to shake with Ethel and said, “So good to meet you.”

“And this is Steve.”

Ethel turned to face Steve like a lion setting eyes on a particularly vulnerable gazelle.

“Nice to meet you ma’am,” Steve said.

“My,” Ethel said. “You’re larger than I’d expected.” Sam could see her scan him up and down with her eyes. “Bucky has told me so much about you. Such a pleasure.”

Sam saw a moment of panic flash in Steve’s eyes as Ethel pulled him down to give him a kiss on the cheek. After she pulled back she held him there, looking at his face.

“Bucky,” she said thoughtfully, “you didn’t tell me he was so handsome.”

And then Sam watched in abject horror as she pinched Steve’s cheek.

Steve turned bright red, and sputtering, said, “Uh, thank you?”

Bucky cackled. Sam had the sudden impression that he knew exactly what would happen by inviting Ethel.

“Oh,” Ethel said, “before I forget.” She rummaged around in the basket on her walker before presenting Sam with a bottle of wine. “We had it at my son’s seder last year. So much better than what we used to drink. Kosher wine has come a such a long way.”

Bucky and Ethel shared a conspiratorial glance and Sam excused himself on the pretext of checking that the table was set correctly.

 

By the time seven rolled around, there had still been no word from Tony. Sam wasn’t exactly surprised. The guy wasn’t the most reliable, so he made the executive decision to start the meal without him.

He herded everyone to the table, which took some doing, only to find Bucky _sitting in the wrong spot_.

"Dude,” Sam said.

Bucky looked at him blankly.

“The seder leader sits at the head of the table,” Sam added.

“I know?”

“So what are you doing over there?” Sam said, hands on his hips, as he realized what Bucky was doing over there. “Oh.”

“I just assumed you were going to lead,” Bucky said. “I don’t know how to lead a seder. I hardly know how to attend a seder. I’m not even bar mitzvah.”

“You were the one chomping at the bit to host a seder!” Sam said. “I thought you’d want to lead it.”

“You guys really need to work on your communication,” Steve said.

“Not helpful Steve.” Bucky jabbed him in the arm with his metal elbow.

“I haven’t prepared for that,” Sam pointed out. “I don’t have anything planned.”

“Neither do I. Besides, all you have to do is follow along with the haggadah, and you’ve been to way more seders than I have, so you’re most qualified.”

“Well,” Sam wracked his brain to come up with a way to get out of this. “You know, you’re the oldest. Traditionally it should be you.”

One look at Bucky’s face told him that there was no way this line of argument was going to get him out of leading. Time for plan B.

"Um. Or,” he said. “Ethel could lead the seder. What do you think, Ethel? You’d be way better at it than any of us.”

Ethel laughed. “Oh no thank you, dear. I haven’t brought my reading glasses.”

Sam sighed, gathered his strength, and sat down at the head of the table.

“Alright, but you all better not expect anything extra. We’re doing this by the book.” He took a deep breath opened his haggadah, and began, “Now in the presence of loved ones and friends, before us the emblems of festive rejoicing, we gather for our sacred celebrations.”

 

Sam felt deeply awkward at first. He was preoccupied with the fear of misspeaking or stumbling over the script, but as he continued to read the anxiety drained away. It was relaxing, actually, to just follow the script and lose himself in the verse. The call and response was a sort of dance between him and the other participants. He found himself getting more comfortable and stopped worrying so much about stepping on someone’s toes.

Of course, the peace was broken when they reached the first Kiddush. Predictably, everyone went right for the kosher wine Ethel had brought, bypassing the concord grape completely. Sam felt bad for his poor Manischewitz, sitting neglected in the center of the table. Even he had the Ethel’s wine for the first glass, if only to not seem rude.

It was good wine and Sam made a point to say so. He decided against voicing his opinion that its goodness was what made it so _wrong_.

“I’m glad it’s not Shabbos tonight,” Ethel said, as they skipped past the Sabbath passages. “Or else we would never eat.”

Wanda snorted, nearly spraying wine all over herself.

“I hope you’re not that much of a lightweight,” Bucky told Wanda, handing her an extra napkin. “We’ve got three more glasses to go.”

 

When they reached the four questions, Sam hit his first real snag.

“Oh no,” he said, hiding his face in his hands. “We don’t have any children.”

Bucky shrugged. “Wanda’s the youngest.”

“Wanda? Will you do us the honors?”

“I guess,” Wanda said. “Why not?”

Wanda read through the four questions, asking about the matzah, the bitter herbs, and the ceremony itself, in turn. When she finished the table was silent for a moment.

“Good job kid,” Sam said.

Wanda smiled, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Reminds me of when I was little,” she said, picking at the table cloth in front of her.

Sam felt guilty, a little like he’d opened up some old wound of hers. He cleared his throat.

“Alright folks, on to the four children,” he said. “Any volunteers?”

“Steve should be the simple child,” Bucky said.

“Hey!” Steve’s brows furrowed in righteous indignation.

“Sure Buck,” Sam said. “But I think that makes you the wicked child.“ Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. “Wanda, you wanna take the wise child?”

“Sounds good,” Wanda said. Her eyes were bright and her face lively again. Sam was glad to see that her brief distress seemed to have passed. He wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if he’d somehow ruined her evening.

“Ethel, do you want to be the child who can’t ask?”

Ethel laughed. “Goodness, no,” she said. “I think I’m old enough to pass on that one.”

“Nat?”

“Sure,” Natasha said. She was sitting on the far side of the table from Sam, but he could see how one side of her mouth curled up in a wry smile. It was hard to tell with Natasha. Sam thought she was being uncharacteristically silent, but she hadn’t given any indication that she _wasn’t_ having a good time, so Sam was cautiously optimistic.

 

Sam read, “Our history moves from slavery toward freedom. Our narration begins with degradation and rises to dignity. Our service opens with the rule of evil and advances toward the kingdom of God.”

Under the table, Sam felt Bucky clasp his hand. When he looked up to meet his eyes, he found Bucky staring wistfully into the middle distance, a ghost of a smile on his face.

 

As an adult, Sam was always taken aback by how short the first part of the seder was. When he’d been younger, the time between sitting down at the table and the commencement of the actual meal had seemed like some vast expanse of wilderness that had to be slogged through before he could eat brisket. A part of him still expected to feel this way, despite the fact that his perception of time and regard for complex rituals had changed fundamentally over the years.

These days, it was no time at all. They drank their second glass of wine, (Manischewitz Concord Grape, to the consternation of most at the table; Ethel’s bottle was long gone) and Bucky dashed off to serve the soup.

“You know Sam,” Steve said. He took a sip of wine and was not entirely successful at hiding a cringe at the taste, “I thought you did really good! I mean, I’ve never been to a seder before so I’m no judge, but I thought it was good.”

“He was great,” Bucky said, appearing over Steve’s shoulder to ladle him some soup. “I don’t know what all the fuss was about.” In a bizarre super-soldier move, Bucky had the massive soup pot resting on his left hip, anchored in place by his metal arm. He made his way around the table, serving soup with alarming grace.

The soup was delicious. In fact, everything was delicious and Bucky was complemented at just about every course.  Sam was amused by the way he turned pink with each compliment, like he truly hadn’t expected anyone to enjoy his cooking. Sam made mental note to tease Bucky about his blushing at a later date, but for now let him enjoy the attention. It seemed as if his horrible Food Network habit had finally paid off.

The wine kept flowing, Sam knew for a fact that the Manischewitz went down a lot easier after the first couple glasses, and the conversation picked up once everyone satisfied their initial hunger with matzo ball soup and gefilte fish.

“As much as I love family,” Ethel said between bites of gefilte fish spread with liberal amounts of horseradish, “I do think it’s good to attend someone else’s seder every few years. Just to keep you on your toes.”

“I’m glad it was worth it,” Bucky said. “Let us know if you have any suggestions. We’re still kinda figuring it all out.”

“So far, a good first attempt. I’m enjoying this haggadah. It has some beautiful illustrations.” Ethel said. Steve nodded in agreement.

“Thanks,” Sam said. “It’s different from the one my family usually uses, but thought it had too much Hebrew for the present company, so the lady at the Jewish bookstore suggested this one.”

“It’s a shame Tony never made it,” Steve said, looking across the table to where there were two empty place settings, one for Tony and the other for Elijah.

Sam shrugged. “He might still stagger in.”

“I’ve got a plate for him in the oven,” Buck said, “just in case.”

“Well if he doesn’t show he’s really missed out,” said Wanda.

“It’s really a lovely ceremony,” Steve said.

“I liked the part about strangers,” Natasha said abruptly. Sam wasn’t sure if her odd reticence was due to her voracious appetite for brisket, or something else, but he was glad to hear that she was enjoying herself.

“The part about not oppressing strangers?” Wanda said.

“Yes. Because we’ve all been strangers, and not just biblically. Hasn’t everyone here been a stranger once?”

There was a succession of nods and affirmative noises around the table.

“It’s good to be reminded of that,” Natasha finished.

 

Following the main course, Bucky set out a veritable smorgasbord of desserts, all artfully arranged on several large plates. Sam suspected Steve had a hand in the arrangement, because while Bucky’s cooking was very good it was rarely what you’d call elegant.

Of course, at that point Sam was so full all he could do was take the thinnest slice of cake and half a square of Wanda’s delicious fudge to nibble on. He gazed regretfully at the macaroons and fruit slices and consoled himself with the thought of gorging on leftovers over the next few days.

Then came the hunt for the afikomen. Bucky had begged to be the one to hide it, and Sam had let him with only cursory protesting. He was curious enough about where his former super assassin boyfriend would think to stash it.

Sam and Ethel watched, bemused, while Bucky stood on the couch to unscrew one of the large living room light fixtures in order to hide the bundle inside. It would have been immediately visible if the light were turned on, but that particular light had burned out a few weeks ago, and the living room was well-lit enough that neither Sam nor Bucky had bothered to change the bulb yet. Although knowing just how adept Bucky was at playing the long game, he may well have scouted out hiding places weeks ago and intentionally avoided replacing the bulb. Maybe he’d even had a hand in it’s burning out. Sam wouldn’t put it past him.

At any rate, Sam had anticipated an entertaining afikomen hunt, but then he’d remembered that Natasha would be hunting too. So, while Steve bumbled around checking under couch cushions and Wanda seemed determined to find it hidden somewhere in the bookshelf, Natasha briefly scanned the room before standing on the back of the couch and opening the fixture to find the prize. It took her less than thirty second. In retrospect, no one else had really stood a chance.

Natasha, with a triumphant, “Ah!” held the bundle aloft and marched over to Sam.

Bucky sighed, looking a little disappointed that his perfect hiding place had been discovered so quickly.

“How much is it worth to you?”

Sam blinked. He’d said there was a prize but hadn’t expected her to already know about his family's tradition of haggling for the afikomen. Maybe she’d done some research beforehand. That was always Natasha’s way, she never went into a situation without proper intelligence if she could avoid it.

“Ten dollars.”

“Twenty five,” she said.

Sam sighed. “Alright. Fifteen.”

“Twenty.”

Sam made an attempt at just taking the bundle from her hands, but she danced away before he even got close.

“Eighteen,” he tried.

“Nineteen.”

“Damn you are stubborn,” he said, reaching for his wallet.

“You’re too indulgent, Sam,” Ethel said, arms crossed with disapproval. “I don’t put up with that haggling from my grandkids. They get what they get and they learn to appreciate it.”

 

By the third cup of wine Sam had a good buzz going, and he felt warm and relaxed as he explained the cup of Elijah and sent Wanda to open to door.

Sam looked at Elijah’s empty place setting. At his family’s seders, this would be the part where his father shook the table, causing Elijah’s cup (which he’d filled to the brim) to spill out onto to table. Then he’d say something like, “Look, Elijah is here! He sure is a messy drinker.” Or, “I think Elijah’s had one too many tonight.” And then Sam’s mom would grumble and go get a rag to clean up the mess.

Given the lack of children at this particular gathering, and the fact that Bucky had set out a nice white tablecloth and might kill him if he intentionally spilled wine all over it, Sam had decided against repeating this stunt.

So Sam was distracted when Wanda called out, “It’s Elijah the prophet!” and dragged Tony Stark in by the arm.

“Oh,” Steve said. “Look who finally made it.”

“So sorry I’m late,” Tony said. “I had this charity thing and it went on way longer than expected. You know how it is. Those people are animals.”

Sam laughed, despite himself. “Well, you’re no Elijah but you’d better sit down. You’re just in time for psalms of praise.”

 

Sam read, ”I shall walk before the Lord in the land of living.”

And the response from his friends, his family, “We will not die, but live,” in uneven, somewhat drunken, chorus.

Sam pretended to fumble with the pages of the haggadah, in order to give himself a moment to collect himself.

Sam swallowed to alleviate the sudden tightness in his throat. He continued, ”God is my strength and my song, God has become my triumph.”

 

Sam had a long held and controversial opinion that the singing of Dayenu happened way too early in the seder. People just weren’t drunk enough yet. Of course it was a little better when there were plenty of kids to sing along, but at a seder with only adults, it led to awkward, half-hearted singing.

Fortunately, that wasn’t the case with Chad Gadya.

Even drunk people who were unfamiliar with the song typically caught on after the first few verses, but Sam was mindful not to make things too difficult for them. His family turned it into a race, getting faster and faster with each verse, but for this seder Sam had resigned himself to going nice and slow so no one would get lost.

He hadn’t, however, counted on Bucky Barnes.

Bucky, who had been hopelessly lost during Chad Gadya with Sam’s family the previous year, affixed Sam with a wicked look and quickly started to pick up speed.

_That fucker had been practicing._

And Sam was just drunk enough that his competitive nature won out over his desire to be a good host. So before long it was him and Bucky, racing each other to the end of Chad Gadya and leaving their guests in the dust.

Sam was laughing so hard he nearly lost, but in the end he managed to get the upper hand by throwing a piece of matza at Bucky’s head during the final verse, and then he had to excuse himself to get a drink of water and gather some composure for the end of the seder.

 

The fourth cup of wine went right to Sam’s head, but he knew he had to hold himself together for the conclusion.

“Peace for us. For everyone!” Said the table, in what passed for harmony after large meal and several glasses of wine. Steve was the only exception to the rule, still completely sober, _damn him_. Bucky never got very drunk, but Sam could tell by his slightly flushed face that even he was a little buzzed.

“For all people, this, our hope:” Sam responded.

“Next Year in Jerusalem! Next year, may all be free!”

 

There was always a bit of post-seder whiplash, as people filed out into the night. Sam should be used to it by now, but somehow it was always unexpected.

Ethel was the first to go. “It’s been a wonderful evening but I am far too old to be out so late,” she’d said.  Bucky had offered to call her a cab but she’d waved him off, assured him that she had more experience drunkenly navigating the subway than he did, and took her leave.

Wanda said her goodbyes next, but took Sam aside before she left.

“I wanted to thank you again for inviting me,” she’d said, giving him a hug.

“We were really happy to have you,” Sam told her. He took care to speak softly. He could get loud when he was drinking, but he got the idea that Wanda didn’t to be overheard.

“This is, um, the first seder I’ve attended in a long time. Since our—my parents died.”

“Oh,” Sam said, suddenly wishing he had more of his wits about him.

“After,” Wanda paused. “After that. We didn’t really practice anymore. It was hard to believe,” she took a deep, audible breath, “to believe anything. But this felt good tonight.”

Sam nodded, not sure what to say.

“It felt like healing.” Wanda’s eyes looked a little wet and Sam, at a loss for what else to do, just gave her another hug.

“So thank you,” she said.

“It was our pleasure, really.”

They said goodbye one more time and then Sam headed back to the remaining guests.

 

Steve and Tony were still seated at the table, amiably bickering about something while Tony finished a slice of cake. Bucky and Natasha were standing in a dark corner, speaking softly in Russian.

Natasha saw Sam come in and smiled at him. She touched Bucky on the arm and said something in Russian that sounded like a goodbye before saying farewell to the rest of them in English and seeing herself out the door.

Which just left Tony and Steve.

“I should apologize again,” Tony said, “for being late. Sorry. I’m a jerk.”

“It’s cool, man,” Sam said. “Shit happens.”

Sam turned his head, distracted by the sound of plates clattering. Bucky was going around the table, stacking them to bring to the sink.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “But you didn’t have to invite me, and some guest I was. But while I’m here, I’ve actually got something to ask the old folks about.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Shoot.”

“Did either of you know my dad was Jewish? Or at least his family? Did he ever mention anything about that?”

“Huh,” Steve said, clearly surprised. “No. I never knew that about Howard.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, neither did I.”

“How’d you find out?” Bucky asked, his expression guarded in the way it usually was around Tony.

“Hired a genealogist. Thought I might pick up a new hobby in my old age. She didn’t have to go very far back though.”

“He was probably ashamed,” Bucky said softly, looking down at a deep red stain on the tablecloth.

“Yeah, sounds like him,” Tony said. “Can’t help but feel a little robbed, though.”

“You should talk to our Rabbi,” Sam suggested.

“I don’t know,” Tony said. “Not planning on going kosher.”

“He just means Rabbi Rachel’s good to talk to,” Bucky said. “She’s nice.”

“She might be able to help. I can give you her email,” Sam said.

“I’ll think about it. Thanks,” Tony said, getting up from his chair. “And thank you for dinner. The wine selection was abysmal but the food was excellent. Well,” he looked around, a bit aimlessly. “Goodnight, all.’

“Goodnight, Tony,” Steve said.

“Glad you could make it,” Sam added. “Really.” He almost said, “I’m sorry your dad was such a dick.” But then he thought better of it.

Tony left and Steve got up shortly after.

“I should probably head home too,” he said. “Unless you guys want help cleaning up?”

“Go home, Steve!” Bucky shouted from the kitchen.

Sam laughed. “You know, he’s rude but he’s not wrong. You’ve helped plenty already.”

Steve smiled. “You’re probably right. Well, goodnight Sam.”

“’Night Steve.” Sam let himself be enveloped in another Steve Rogers Hug.

Bucky emerged from the kitchen.

“Goodnight, Buck,” Steve said. “Next year in Jerusalem, right?”

“Next year in Jerusalem,” Sam echoed.

Bucky practically tackled Steve. “We _should_ go to Jerusalem next year.”

Sam groaned. “Can we please at least have a few weeks break before we start discussing next year’s seder?”

 

Steve left and Sam joined Bucky in the last of the cleanup, rinsing plates for Bucky to load into the dishwasher.

“I think that was a success,” he said.

“Yeah, I think it was.”

“Did Natasha have a good time?” Sam asked. “It’s hard to tell with her sometimes and I know the two of you are kind of on the same wavelength.”

“I think she did,” Bucky said. “She just,” he paused, “Well I don’t know if I should say.”

“Hey if it’s something personal you don’t have to tell me.”

Bucky hummed. “It’s just that she’s kind of like me. In some ways I think it’s worse for her, but she’s better at hiding it.”

“Okay.”

“There’s a lot she doesn’t remember, especially from when she was-- from before she was the black widow.”

“She remembered something?”

“Maybe. Anyway she did have a good time. She said she liked hearing you trying to pronounce biblical words while drunk.” Bucky grinned.

“Sounds like Natasha.” Sam loaded the last of the dishes and threw an arm over Bucky’s shoulder with a satisfied sigh. “Lucky for you, I’m a happy drunk.”

Bucky turned his head to kiss him, and he tasted sweet, like disgusting Passover wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The haggadah text included in this chapter comes from A Passover Haggadah: The New Union Haggadah, revised edition.
> 
> Jewish!Tony is inspired by Howard's background in season 1 of Agent Carter.
> 
> Jewish!Nat is only implied, but I think I implied it strongly enough to tag it? At any rate I'm probably doing a series in this au and it will be relevant in later stories.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to add that my background is a combo of reform and conservative judaism, and this story is definitely inspired by my family's passover celebrations.
> 
> In this AU, Bucky is from an interfaith family. His mother was Jewish and his father was Catholic. I will probably explore his background more in later stories, but due to the controversial nature of his parent's marriage, he did not get the religious education that most Jewish kids get. Hence the classes he is taking at shul.
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr @ thesacredreznor.tumblr.com


End file.
